


So Ends This Day

by baggvinshield



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Battle of Five Armies, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Small but necessary amounts of, inexplicably alive Durins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 10:44:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5087653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baggvinshield/pseuds/baggvinshield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>Bofur and Dwalin sass each other, and then finally <i>someone</i> makes a move. Oh, and no one we love died during BotFA. You're welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Ends This Day

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd, any mistakes are mine.  
> This is for Alaina and the other peeps over on tumblr who talked about Dwofur with me tonight. Obviously it was very inspiring, so here we are.

 

* * *

 

 

Bofur found Dwalin just outside the closed flaps of the tent where Gandalf, Oin, and the Elf-king were working to save Thorin’s life. Unsurprisingly, Bilbo sat not far away, his gaze blank, his body still.

Dwalin, on the other hand, paced like a caged thing, all useless energy and animated frustration.

Well, Bofur thought, he looks even worse than when I last saw him.  
  


 

Bofur had been with the rest of the Company when Beorn had come tearing into Dale, in his bear-form no less, carrying the limp body of Thorin Oakenshield. Oin had told Beorn to lay Thorin down on his back on the relatively level street, and had shouted for someone to find the wizard. Ori was off faster than a jackrabbit, calling back over his shoulder that he knew where to find him.

Gandalf and Oin, and a party of Elves (much to Gloin’s dismay) had just set off with Beorn’s help to carry Thorin to the healers’ tent when the rest of the Raven Hill party arrived, Dwalin and Bilbo in the lead, out of breath, followed by Kili supporting a limping Fili.

Happy hellos rang out as the Company was reunited, and Bofur thought he’d never felt such relief as when he saw Dwalin upright and looking unharmed.

Dwalin’s eyes found him in the group, and a tired grin split his face. Bofur felt cheeky, still high on adrenaline from the battle, and so it was easy to step into Dwalin’s space and throw his arms about him in a fierce hug which Dwalin returned with only a moment’s hesitation.

“Still in one piece then?” Bofur asked, stepping back.

“Oh, aye,” Dwalin answered, and gave a small smile before reaching to upset Bofur’s hat. “Still wearing this ugly thing, I see.”

“No uglier than your bare skull,” Bofur shot back with a grin.

Dwalin only smiled wider, and if Bofur were the sort, he would have said later that his eyes were twinkling.

But they both sobered in a moment, and Dwalin asked, “Where’ve they taken him?”

And then there were other things to worry about - Bilbo’s head wound (which he insisted was nothing), and Fili’s leg (which Kili insisted needed immediate looking-after), and countless other scrapes and bruises and cuts that Oin would have had any number of remedy for, but the Company was forced to make do with what they had together, as Oin was engaged in a far more important task - saving their King.

 

“Any news?” Bofur asked, and Dwalin stopped his pacing.

“Nothing,” he gritted out. “They’ve been at it hours now, closed up in there, and no word.”

Bofur sniffed, folded his arms, wished he had his flute with him. Anything to distract from the waiting.

“I don’t trust these Elves,” Dwalin grumbled.

“Nor do I, on the whole. But if there’s one thing I do respect about them, it’s their healing magic.”

Dwalin gave him a hard look and raised an eyebrow at that, said with no small amount of sarcasm, “Aye? Is that so?”

“Sure,” Bofur answered. “Saw a bit of it in Laketown, with the red-haired one and Kili. She healed his leg when Oin could do nothing. Like something out of the old tales, it was.”

Dwalin still looked skeptical, running his fingers through his beard, but noticeably calmer. A victory, that. He stepped closer to Bofur, until he could lean down and speak close to his ear.

“You trust them to do their best for him, then?” Dwalin whispered.

Bofur looked him steadily in the eyes and smiled.

“Yes.”

Dwalin seemed to consider that a moment. Then he nodded, stepped away, and to Bofur’s eyes almost looked embarrassed for an instant. The warrior cleared his throat.

“Then so do I.”

Bofur studied Dwalin’s face, eyes tracking over his full beard, the wrinkles about his eyes, laugh lines and tattoos, and just as he seemed to grow uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Bofur reached out and took Dwalin’s gloved hand firmly in his own.

Dwalin’s eyebrows rose a great deal, but he didn’t pull away.

Bofur smiled. “I’m not much good at this sort of thing,” he admitted.

Dwalin swallowed thickly, and Bofur watched the way his throat worked.

“Neither am I,” he said softly. Bofur felt through his thick gloves the little squeeze of Dwalin’s hand over his, and smiled a toothy grin, happiness bubbling unbidden in his chest.

The wizard chose just that moment to thrust his bearded head out of the tent, and looked about until his eyes fell on their burglar.

“Ah, Bilbo,” Gandalf said, not unkindly. “Come. He is asking for you.”

Bofur heared Dwalin’s sharp intake of breath and tightened his grip on his hand. He watched as Bilbo stood stiff-legged, fussed with the belt on his blue coat, nodded once in their direction and walked into the tent.

It was closed behind him.

Dwalin let out a shaking breath at Bofur’s side.

“If he dies…” Dwalin didn’t complete the thought.

“If he dies,” Bofur said gently, “then we’ll lay him to rest with honor befitting a king of Erebor.” Dwalin nodded, straightened his stance. “But I don’t think it’ll come to that.”

Then the Elf-king came whirling out of the tent, his pale hair and clean, beardless face looking like nothing that’d been anywhere near a battle, and Dwalin and Bofur broke apart for the sake of scowling in his direction. Gandalf came a few steps behind, looking wearier than ever, but when he looked on them his eyes were kind, and he smiled.

“Thorin will live.”

Bofur let out a whooping cry just as Dwalin bent over double, hands on his knees. Then the tall Dwarf straightened up, and he laughed, turning to Bofur and pulling him into a great hug, which reminded Bofur immediately of his return to the rest of the Company in Erebor, the unexpected thrill of having Dwalin’s larger arms wrapped around him, his face at the level of Dwalin’s neck, breathing in the smell of him. Bofur laughed and smacked his hands on his back, fisted his hands in his shirts and mail.

Dwalin’s firm hands were on his shoulders and he pushed back from the embrace, still laughing, and Bofur had but a moment to realize he was about to be kissed before it was happening.

But Dwalin pulled back almost as quickly as he’d rushed in, looking down, and muttered, “Sorry, I’m sorry. Been wanting to do that, got carried away is all.”

“Fool,” Bofur laughed, and Dwalin looked up, surprised and, frankly, bordering on outraged.

“Shoulda said something sooner,” Bofur whispered, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him in for more kisses.

They might have gone on kissing like that until night fell and the chill air forced them to find some sort of shelter, or worse yet, one of the rest of the Company came by after hearing the good news and found a sight that would have been laughed about even through Fili’s entire kingship, but Bilbo Baggins saved them once again from an unpleasant fate.

The Hobbit’s voice rose from within the tent, all but shouting - “Thorin Oakenshield, if you try to move from that bed again I will kill you myself - not one muscle!”

Bofur and Dwalin had to break their kiss then, as it’s rather hard to kiss so well while laughing.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus, I just love them.


End file.
